The Rose Garden
by Sable Supernova
Summary: Narcissa gets sentimental. One shot. Written for QLFC.


_Written for Quidditch League, for my position as Seeker for Wigtown Wanderers._

 _Prompt: None._

 _Words: 1077_

* * *

 **The Rose Garden**

The smell of the roses from the walled garden rose up to the window where Narcissa was standing. Narcissa loved the roses, both red and white, blossoming each May amidst their thorns. Her husband and son had both taken to calling it her garden. It was a small, orderly patch, trimmed and trained to perfection, enclosed and safe from the weeds that grew outside, from the harsh winds, by a red brick wall. She smiled a little and found it fitting. But today, she was feeling sentimental. It wasn't her garden, not really. She was a visitor here, in the ancient home of the Malfoys. The walls had been there since 1876, according to the key stone over the entrance arch. The roses had been planted in the 20s, after the rhododendrons and gooseberries went out of fashion. They were established plants, tall and strong, hardy. They'd been here for a long time before her, and they'd be here after.

* * *

 _"Narcissa, as you know, we have been courting for some time now," Lucius said, and Narcissa felt the girlish blush rise in her cheeks. He was standing so close, she could smell his cologne, and the distinct aroma of whiskey. She wondered if he could smell her new perfume, and whether or not he liked the scent. She waited patiently, smiling, for him to continue. "And I think now is the time to move our relationship forward."_

 _He looked out over the grounds of Malfoy Manor. They were stood on the balcony over the Great Hall, against the window. The evening continued below them to the east, while the stars awaited them to the west. No one below saw them, no one looked up._

 _"Narcissa, I have fallen in love with you. Completely. You're beautiful, pure, more than eligible, and I hoped you would do me the honour…" he trailed off as he bent to kneeling, looking up at her with honesty in his eyes, and Narcissa had never been happier. She'd been raised for this moment, trained for it her whole life. This was the height of honour, for her and for her family. Now it was here, she felt awkward and unsure. What was she supposed to do? She resigned herself to listen and smile, hoping he would see it as encouragement. "Narcissa, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"_

 _She couldn't supress a giggle as he opened the ring box, revealing a large, garish, antique ring. She wondered how many other women's fingers it had been slipped on. "Of course, Lucius. It would be my pleasure."_

* * *

She'd done her duty, now, hadn't she? She'd done all she was supposed to do. She'd married a good man, she supposed, although she couldn't be certain what the definition of good was anymore. She'd borne him a son, stayed beside him through many years and hardships. She'd kept a good house, and she was still beautiful. She didn't ask too many questions, or have too many opinions.

It was like she lived in the wallpaper, watching everything, effecting nothing. She was on a mantelpiece as visitors commented on how wonderful she looked on his arm. She'd seen her son grow up and stood beside him in photographs, a little behind him, so that he could shine brighter.

She turned away from the window, suddenly finding the rose garden too much for her. It was her favourite place, but she hated it at the same time. It reminded her she was not permanent. Looking into the room, she found herself faced with a mirror and breathed in sharply in shock. She was blonder than any of her blood relatives, dainty and soft, but she'd chosen a red dress today. It draped down from her shoulders with elegance, floating as she moved. But her face… her face was as Black as her sister's. It always had been and it always would be. The jawline was hard, the eyes slightly withdrawn in their frames. She was reminded of a drawing she did as a child, of her mother.

* * *

 _Narcissa and Bellatrix fought often as children, and after each one, the routine was the same. Bellatrix would grow wild, uncontrollable. A free spirit. She would tease whoever she could and shout at the house elves, destroying all that lay in her path in her anger. She was a fire, tearing through her own childhood home, relentless. Narcissa was the opposite. Narcissa grew silent for days, shutting herself at the desk in her old nursery. When she was seven, in the summer, she shut herself up with a photograph of her mother._

 _She cursed the photograph for moving. It meant her work took a lot longer than it otherwise would. She knew not to curse it out loud. She'd made that mistake before. It took three days, on and off, while she worked with her pencils and eraser. She restarted the whole thing four times. She got frustrated when she struggled to capture the wet light reflecting from the blue eyes, when she wasn't sure which pencils to use to capture the movement in the long blonde hair. But eventually, just before dinner on a Wednesday, she decided it was complete. With granite marks on her forehead, grey stains on her dress, she raced downstairs with the picture, grinning, brimming with pride. She showed it to her mother, waiting for the usual sentiments as she held it out._

 _"It's you, mother!" Narcissa said. Her mother turned with a smile, but the smile fell. She stared at the drawing and shock settled on her features. Narcissa waited for the praise, and her own smile faltered._

 _"Do you not like it?" Narcissa asked._

 _"Cissy, it's… wonderful," her mother finally said, as if she wasn't sure which word really did describe it best._

* * *

Narcissa smiled now, at the memory. She had thought her mother didn't like it, but she knew now that it was the opposite. Her mother was speechless at the fact that Narcissa had captured her so perfectly.

She looked around the room once more; the perfectly made bed, the dust-free portrait frame. She'd lived according to the values she'd been taught. She'd done everything she was supposed to, and she felt empty.

She whispered to the ornaments, knowing it would be the only chance she had to say it aloud, as tears formed in her eyes. She knew better than to let them fall.

"When does _my_ life begin?"


End file.
